Part Eight: Meeting the Neighbors

He follows Bahorel after they finish their meal, trying his best not to insult Jehan or his interests by doing so. The poet seems to take no offense, cheerfully heading on his way after urging Bahorel to at least consider attending perhaps one of his classes.

"Why ever would I want to do that?" Bahorel grins as he speaks the words quietly, so that Jehan's retreating figure won't hear clearly. "I've much more interesting and important work to do."

So Grantaire finds himself following the higher-ranked wolf from the café that they had dined at to a smaller, noisier, more crowded tavern. From the talk and the looks of those around him, he guesses that this is a popular gathering-spot for students.

"This is still neutral ground." Bahorel speaks low, standing just inside the doorway, so that only Grantaire with his better-than-human hearing should be able to hear clearly. "It's still largely associated with the university, but go another street over and you're into another pack's territory. You'll smell when you cross over—all the packs in Paris have been very particular this last year or so about making sure their territory is well marked—but an extra warning doesn't hurt."

Grantaire nods, staring around the dimly-lit room. "And why are we here?"

Bahorel claps him on the shoulder, managing to gently inch Grantaire's head down in the process. Exposing his neck just slightly, Grantaire can feel the more dominant wolf's muscles relax as he stops provoking the other man unintentionally. When the other wolf speaks, it's in a normal conversational tone. "We're here so I can meet some friends and try to talk some sense into people. Just follow and try not to cause too much trouble. Enjolras hates when we break things without proper justification."

Grantaire doesn't get to ask what proper justification is, because Bahorel's already moving, springing into the small groups of people and greeting them with hearty, unfeigned cheer. Slinking over to the side, staying as unobtrusive as he can, Grantaire decides that he'll simply watch for now and see what's going to happen.

What's going to happen is that Bahorel's going to talk.

A lot.

Grantaire's not sure he's ever seen a wolf speak so long or so eloquently with humans before. He tries to follow what Bahorel's saying, and he does all right for a little bit, but there are politicians and theories and sometimes, he's pretty sure, languages involved in the man's discussion that Grantaire doesn't know.

What he does understand, he manages to find frightening and mystifying and, somehow, endearing all at once.

How can a dominant wolf urge these humans to rebel against authority? How can a man who thrums with such power, who could, perchance, lead a pack, or at least be beta to any other alpha, instigate rebellion? How can he talk so cheerfully of the rights of man, when they aren't even human?

How can he seem to care for these people and the people that they discuss, the poor, the downtrodden, the helpless, when they are the ones who could destroy all of the Pack in mindless violence if they were ever discovered?

"Hello, stray."

The wolf speaks quietly, for Grantaire's ears only, though it doesn't matter much. Bahorel has quickly made himself the center of attention, and most of the humans are gathered around him, either agreeing with or debating with him.

Grantaire turns to the wolf warily, body already preparing to fight or run as he needs to. Never mind that this is supposedly neutral ground. Never mind that he is considering joining Enjolras' pack. Here is a dominant wolf, male, strong, and he is looking at Grantaire with a smile that shows too many teeth and does nothing to change the scent of his fury.

"You reek of his pack." The dominant wolf settles at the table next to Grantaire, his eyes staying locked onto Grantaire's. Leaning towards him, he inhales deeply, and the furious light in his dark eyes redoubles. "Already quite brazen, aren't you?"

Belatedly Grantaire ducks his head, though he can't bring himself to actually look away from this wolf. All his instincts tell him that this man wants to hurt him, and since he is not of this man's pack there is nothing to prevent him from doing so. "If I gave offense, it wasn't intentional, good sir."

The wolf's fury fades slightly as Grantaire stops challenging him, the scent of anger and frustration dying away to one of sullen discontent. "Fair enough, stray. I suppose I did surprise you. You've been with Enjolras' pack, yes?"

"I'm…" Grantaire considers the wolf, still with lowered head. He is dominant, perhaps as dominant as Combeferre, though they would need to stand side by side in order to truly compare scents, and even then, it would likely come to blows to settle the hierarchy. "Staying with them, for a little while, at least. My name's Grantaire."

"Badeau." The wolf introduces himself calmly, his eyes having drifted from Grantaire to Bahorel. His voice drops even lower, so Grantaire has to shift closer to him despite his own desires in order to hear. "I'm alpha of the pack whose land lies just east of here. My wolves told me one of Enjolras' pack was stirring up trouble again. They failed to mention you."

"Compared to Bahorel, I am rather easy to miss." Grantaire takes a sip from his drink. "I don't suppose you'd like to while away the time with a game? I'm a fair hand at dominoes."

The alpha turns to stare at him again, confusion and disbelief shining from his dark brown eyes before turning to bemused laughter. "Ah, one of Enjolras' strays, indeed. So what's wrong with you, other than a penchant for endangering your own life?"

Grantaire frowns down at the table. "I thought I was doing rather well, since I'm in the unfortunate situation of being elbow-to-elbow with an alpha who cornered me without provocation and seems intent on keeping me cornered."

"Quite the mouth for a stray." Badeau frowns, the fury flaring for a moment before being tamped back down as the dominant wolf takes a handful of deep breaths. "But you're right. I've been rude. I've placed a submissive in a position where he could submit or risk his life, and then grew snappish when he didn't want to submit. This isn't the country, though. I can't simply bark at you and expect you to disappear."

"I've no intention of bothering you or your pack." Grantaire speaks calmly, though his heart is still beating too quickly. Glancing at Bahorel shows the other wolf gazing back at him, eyebrows raised in silent question. Shaking his head, Grantaire nods to the gathered humans. Bringing Bahorel over wouldn't diffuse this situation. If anything, it would make this alpha more prone to violence, and Enjolras doesn't approve of unnecessary violence.

"You're staying with them." Badeau spits out the word as though it were a curse. "Have a care who you associate yourself with, stray. That… creature and his wolves aren't natural. Getting yourself involved with them is asking to die, and to die for foolish reasons."

"Oh?" Grantaire keeps his tone non-committal. "Have they done something to offend you, then?"

"Done something?" Badeua laughs, a bitter, frustrated sound. "They've changed everything, Grantaire. This isn't a proper city anymore. Alphas don't have the power that they should have, because he says that we shouldn't and everyone's too afraid of him to even consider fighting back. I can't attack those who are endangering my pack, even when they sit not a stone's throw from my territory. I can't expand my territory as I wish, as my strength says I should be able to. I have to talk, and talk well, or that monster will strip away what little he's left us with."

"Did you have territory in the university, then?" Still keeping his tone neutral, Grantaire fights the urge to raise his head, to purposefully insult this man. The clothes and the speech may be different, but he's met alphas like this before. Young, brash, strong, ruling with their fists and their instincts because their minds couldn't keep up with the power that they had, and it wasn't fair. Why should he be so submissive, so weak and useless, when a man like this had magic to spare?

"No." Flushing slightly, Badeau tilts his head away. "It wasn't worth fighting with Armand over it, not yet. I would have eventually, though. I might even have taken the whole university, when the pack got large enough. Armand's old and getting older, while we've just had our first round of pups. Healthy pups, too, and how are they supposed to learn to be proper wolves with Enjolras… changing things?"

"And your pack all feel the same way?" It's a simple question, but a dangerous one, and Grantaire smiles and downs the rest of his drink as he says it.

This alpha won't care what the rest of his pack thinks.

This alpha will be insulted to be challenged by a submissive stray.

At this point, Grantaire really doesn't care.

Badeau's fury is an almost palpable thing, but Grantaire continues to smile as he raises his head and faces the alpha squarely. "You haven't asked any of them, have you? You've told them that they hate him, that they hate his pack, that they hate the changes, and because you're alpha they listen to you. But have you listened to what they tell you, what they think, what they feel? No, I don't think you have, though it should ring in that empty space between your ears if you keep your pack-bonds properly. Have you listened when you meet with the other alphas—when you meet with Enjolras? You call him a monster, but his pack is the only one in this damned city, perhaps the only one in this damned country, that's been willing to show me any kindness. So don't expect me to pity you your throttled instincts. Sometimes it's when we don't follow them that we're truly Pack and not just rabid dogs."

He expects the blow, but he still doesn't see it coming. All he sees are stars, bright and fierce and white, exploding across his vision as the alpha punches him with all his strength, the man's fury washing over him in a torrent of scent and pack magic that doesn't touch Grantaire's mind. This man isn't Enjolras. This man isn't bound to him by ties of pack or mating, and that makes his magic useless in this fight.

His vicious left hook makes up for their evenness in magic, though.

By the time Grantaire can blink his vision clear, Bahorel and Badeau are circling each other warily, Bahorel taking experimental swings at the other wolf while Badeau spits half-intelligible curses at Bahorel and Enjolras in turn. A circle of laughing, cheering humans has surrounded the two wolves, and Grantaire wonders how they can miss the feral gleam in Badeau's eyes, the inhuman protectiveness in Bahorel's stance and snarl. Are they really so blind?

Is he really so close to Enjolras' pack, already, that Bahorel feels dominant responsibility for him?

"Bahorel." Grantaire speaks quietly, lowering his head in submission when Bahorel spares him a quick glance. "Were you just about done?"

"No." Stiffening, Bahorel's baleful glare returns to Badeau. "And we're not leaving until I'm ready to."

The words are a challenge, and Grantaire can see Badeau stiffen in inexpressible rage at the affront. If he's not careful, the other alpha's going to work himself into doing something stupid that they'll likely all regret.

Two other wolves, one male and one female, shoulder their way through the crowd to Badeau's side. Bahorel plants himself more firmly in front of Grantaire.

Well, this is not turning out the way that Grantaire had intended.

"Go home, Badeau." Bahorel speaks calmly, evenly. "Take your p—friends and go home. This isn't worth getting into a brawl over."

"That's for me to decide, isn't it?" Badeau still snarls the words, but he seems calmer, steadier with his wolves at his side. "With you and your friends making trouble, it seems like it's fair enough if me and me w—friends make trouble for you."

Grantaire finds himself frowning and repeating the words, trying to ensure that the sentence actually means what Badeau clearly thinks it means. Or maybe it's just the residual ringing in his ears making it hard for him to follow.

"I could make you regret deciding to stay." Bahorel's voice is still low and calm, but now there's an ugly, threatening note to it. "You know it would be easy enough for me to do."

Badeau pales, and there's a sudden scent of fear from the wolves with him. After a second the alpha shakes his head. "You wouldn't dare. You'd all suffer as much as the rest of us."

"Don't force me to decide what I'll dare." Bahorel's thin smile, full of fear and a bitter certainty, is terrible to behold. "He's under my protection. He's under Enjolras' protection."

Grantaire finds himself holding his breath, wishing he knew what he could say to diffuse the situation, terrified and in awe of what he thinks Bahorel's suggesting.

It would be foolishness incarnate. It would be a terrible blow to all wolves, to have them found out like this, in a bar fight connected with rebellion, and the idea that Bahorel would force the Change on these wolves for him

"Bahorel."

Jehan's voice slices through the suddenly uncertain mumbling of the crowd. They were excited to see a fight, to see blood, and this strange discussion is doing nothing but making them uneasy.

"Bahorel." Jehan forces his way up to his mate, the female wolf laying a hand on Bahorel's shoulder. "Enjolras and Combeferre are on their way; the others know."

With those few words Jehan changes everything. If Enjolras is on his way, it means this wouldn't just be a skirmish between a few wolves from different packs. This would be a war, a pack against pack war with both alphas involved, and there's very little doubt in Grantaire's mind which pack would win.

Apparently Badeau feels the same, because he turns away with a fierce, frustrated snarl. Both his wolves touch his shoulder, crowd as close against him as they can in this place filled with humans.

And then they're gone, walking away as though nothing has happened, and Grantaire finds himself letting out a breath he hadn't meant to hold.

Following Bahorel around is a lot more excitement than he had really been prepared for.